Evil will triumph when good men do nothing
by santaana
Summary: Chandler has decided to leave when a new killer emerge on the streets. Things aren't what they first seem when Chandler finds himself not only battling an evil without but also has to deal with issues within himself. Evil has many faces as the team are soon to realize.
1. Chapter 1

Preceded by: A goodbye to something that never was  
Takes place after the end of season 4_  
_

* * *

_They were filthy dirty creatures and seeing them made him feel as filthy and dirty. They had to pay, all of them, that one first.  
He moved closer to the prey, slowly as not to scare. It was too easy. Not even a struggle. Oh how he enjoyed the feeling of the first strike going in. The feeling of the flesh yielding under his power.  
She was right, he was going to love this._

* * *

The phone woke him. His head pounded and it took Chandler a few minutes to realize where that god-awful sound was coming from.

- "Chandler", he answered with a thick gravelly voice. He looked at the clock. 4.41. Too early for anything but police matters.

- "You have a new case". The sharp voice on the other end belonged to Commander Anderson.

- "OK where am I supposed to go?" Chandler tried to move but his head punished him straight away. Why had he finished the whole bottle? The memories of last night's failure came rushing back._ Yeah right, that's why._

- "In Whitechapel".

- "But sir! I'm not going to stay!" Chandler felt the panic grow inside of him. _Please don't force me to go back,_ he thought.

- "I need you to do one last case. Do this well and I can move you wherever you want. It could even mean a promotion."

- "I don't think I have it in me, sir. I don't think I can stand one more day at that place."

- "Don't be a fool, Joseph! Just sober up and get out there. The son of an old friend has been found dead by Whitechapel road. You might even remember him, Clive Griffith's son, Philip."

Clive Griffith was the Deputy Assistant Commissioner, and had been a friend of Chandler's father. He hadn't seen him since his father died, one of the many acquaintances that had disappeared after the suicide. Chandler had met Philipas a child, probably played with him. He could hardly remember anything about the boy and knew nothing about the man he had become.

- "It needs to be kept quiet", Commander Anderson continued, "or at least some things do, some details of his way of life."

- "But sir". Chandler felt himself whine like a teenager, and it made him recall older conversions between them where the commander had played the role of a father reprimanding and guiding him. Usually it had been enough for Anderson to say, 'It is what your father would have wanted', to get Chandler to comply.

- "Do this or stay in Whitechapel for ever." The determination in the commanders voice told Chandler that he had no choice. He had to obey although he didn't like to be back under Commander Anderson's control. He had been comfortable with being forgotten these past years. Of course he was never completely forgotten. They had meet for some occasionally diners or at his mother's but professionally Chandler had been cut off. Taking on this case could mean that Chandler was put back on the plan, and under the guiding wings of Commander Anderson. He didn't know if he wanted that. But Chandler needed Commander Anderson on his side to get out of Whitechapel and right now that was the most important thing for him.

- "Fine sir, But after this one you will have me transferred, agreed?"

-"Yes yes, Just go to Clive Griffith's home. He wants to talk to you before you do anything else."

Chandler ended the call and willed himself out of bed and into the shower. His head was killing him. He leaned his forehead against the tiles, hoping that their coldness would give him some relief. It didn't. He hated the idea of going back the incident room. There was an evil in the Whitechapel police station that he couldn't fight, he didn't know how to. It wasn't according to his normal character to give up, to run away but he felt at the end of his tether with nothing left to give. Chandler just wanted to be done with everything and everyone that was Whitechapel.

Kent's face and voice flashed before his eyes. 'Was it all just me?'. _No, no not that as well._ Chandler turned up the heat as high as it went, hoping that that warm, almost boiling, water would relieve him from thoughts. It didn't. The rooftop conversation still swirled around in his head. He had to push it down. No good would come from recalling the words spoken the night before. Both him and Kent had said things that should have been left unsaid. Things with deeper meaning that could destroy everything, that were prohibited.

- "Snap out of it", Chandler said it to himself out loud. "You can and you will conquer all of this."

* * *

It would have taken him even longer to get ready if he wasn't so hung over. The headache made the compulsions not so obsessive, but still it had take him two showers, four change of clothes and 50 on and off switches before he could leave the apartment with something that at least resembled control. He had called Miles from the car.

- "We have a special case", he said. "I'll swing by and pick you up."

- "I'll ring the others then?" asked Miles on the other end,

- "No, they don't have to come, have them finish the paperwork of the Abrahamians. We aren't going to a crime scene. SOCO are already done with it. We are to see the family of the deceased"

-"Ah that kind of special case", said Miles when Chandler had told him which family there where to met.

* * *

Clive Griffith was a man who was used to commanding. You could tell as soon as you saw him, it was almost as if he had the uniform on underneath the regular clothes he was wearing that morning. He stood in the middle of the small living room where Chandler and Miles had been escorted when they entered the house. The room was facing the west and the first streaks of daylight hit the floor. It made the room look warm and welcoming and totally unsuited for the conversation they were about to have. Clive Griffith looked them up and down, scrutinizing them.

- "So you are Chandlers boy", he said with a voice without emotions. "Anderson vouch for you, says that you will uphold absolute discretion. Can the same thing be said about your team?" Griffith's eyes turned to Miles, with a expression of disapproval over his face.

Chandler could feel Miles grunt angrily at his side.

- "Well of course sir," he said before Miles could lash out. "They are all professional."

- "Very well then," said Clive and walked up to a window. His wife Marjorie was sitting in the sofa, quietly fiddling with a spoon that belonged to the tea set placed on the table in front of her. Her eyes were red from crying. She sat quietly while Clive Griffith continued to speak. He was still facing the garden behind the house.

- "Last night at shortly after 4 o'clock Philip was found dead with multiple stab wounds to torso and legs. He was found by a barman behind the Rhythm factory, a gay bar." The last words were spit out as if they left an awful taste in the Deputy Assistant Commissioner mouth. "Philip was an addict and have been selling his body to other men for years.

- "When did you last see him?", asked Chandler.

- "Philip left my house at 16, after declaring his life choice. I haven't seen him since." Griffith sounded proud of that fact. Chandler's dislike grew stronger by each word the other man said.

- "And you Mrs Griffith', have you had contact with Philip since then?" The women only shook her head as an answer. She looked completely destroyed.

- "So you are telling me that you know nothing about your son's life the past 15-20 years?" Chandler said with astonishment.

- "I've already told you, Phillip was a homosexual that sold himself for drugs." Clive Griffith said dryly. "He wasn't the sort of person we would associate with. We know nothing about him."

- "You don't know where he lives, who his friends were, if he had any enemies?"

- "As I said, nothing at all."

- "Then why was it so important for us to come here first?" Chandler said almost annoyed. They needed to talk to people who could shed some light on the murder so that they could solve it quickly and Chandler could get transferred. This had to be a quick case.

- "It is of the uppermost importance that all of this is handled discreetly. I don't want to be reading about Phillips life in the papers, having him flaunted as the gay son of the Deputy Assistant Commissioner to all of England. It's important that you understand this." Griffith fixed his eyes hard on Chandler. "One word out of place and you and everyone on your team are finished."

- "I don't take well to threats!" Chandler said sharply. "Me and my team are going to investigate Phillips death the same way we would any other murder case. We are professionals."

- "So you've said but that wasn't really the case during the Ripper murders was it? I'm putting my career and reputations in your hands."

- "Our priority is to found the person that murdered Philip Griffith. Not to protect your reputation."

- "Philip Black, he goes by his mother's maiden name, Black," the Deputy Assistant Commissioner corrected.

- "Went" Miles interrupted with smug grin, in turn correcting Clive Griffith.

- "What?"

- "Your son," Miles said it forcefully as to remind the other man that Philip had been his son, "WENT by his mother's maiden name. He's dead now."

Griffith just shrugged at Miles remark and continued: - "I had an alert out on Philip Black, so that I would be told every time he got picked up or arrested. I wanted to have a heads up if any embarrassment where to arise. I knew this day would come sooner or later."

- "You knew your son would be murdered? And you did nothing to stop it?" The disbelief was plain in Miles voice.

- "Well of course not. But I knew he end up dead in some filthy ditch or alley. It is what awaits people like him, what they have coming for them.

- "Clive!" It was the first words Mrs Griffith had uttered during the interview.

- "Bloody hell, that's what happens to drug addicts and prostitutes, isn't it? It was his bloody choice not mine." Clive Griffith screamed at his wife. It was the first sign of emotion in the man.

Before showing Chandler and Miles out of his home, Clive Griffith locked his gaze at Chandler: - "You have a reputation of having your suspects die on you, DI Chandler. It would be good if this thing never got to court. A dead killer would be a very pleasing result indeed."

* * *

- "Bloody horrid man that one" Miles said when he sat down in Chandler's car.

- "He didn't seem to have much affections for his son."

- "To hate one's child just for being gay. I can't understand it. If my son came home with a bloke I would just pull out a few lagers and tell them to watch the game with me."

Chandler gave the other man a warm smile.

- "Not all are as good father as you, Miles, not all are as inclusive."

-"How would your father have reacted to you?"

- "Miles, I've told you I'm not gay." Chandler said it with firmness.

- "Yeah I've heard that, but if it had been you and your ole' man, had he reacted the same way?"

- "To a degree. I don't think he would have turned me out at 16 and cut me off, but he wanted me to raise in the ranks, you can't do that as a gay man, can you?"

- "I don't see why. Times are changing."

- "But men like Deputy Assistant Commissioner Griffith aren't. The future of British police still can't be gay."

They sat quietly, with London passing by outside the car windows as they made their way back to the station. Chandler had a knot in his stomach that only got larger as they got closer to the station. His headache got worse and he started to see red flashes in the corner of his eyes. He need to wash his hands and change his shirt before he could face Kent. _NO! The team, before he could face the team!_ Chandler corrected his own thoughts. Why should facing Kent be any worse than the rest of them, or walk into the station itself? It wouldn't he told himself and ignored that the knot grew bigger and harder when he thought of Kent.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. This is going to be a multi chapter case fiction with romance and suspense. I'll hope it will be to your liking.  
Feel free to review! I'll will gladly take any help to make this story better. **


	2. Chapter 2

When Kent woke up he actually felt relieved. He didn't have to pine anymore. Chandler was gone and he could move on. The old cliché of a weight's being lifted off shoulders felt true to him and he could breathe easily for the first time in years. He didn't hurry as he usually did in the mornings. He took his time getting ready for work. Miles had called and said that he and the boss would be in later, something about a new case. Probably a pretext so Chandler could tell the DS about his decision to leave. Kent knew that there would be no more new cases because Chandler was leaving.

Today would be a completely new experience for Kent. He wouldn't have to keep himself in check all day, worry about making mistakes, trying to be smart and clever so his boss would notice him. Chandler wasn't going to be sitting in his office or pacing around the incident room, eyes fixed on the whiteboard. Today Kent could do whatever he liked to, say whatever he wanted to and he would eat something totally rubbish for lunch. He could actually put on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, he thought when he was getting dressed. Chandler wouldn't see it so who would care? Kent let his finger run over the suites that hanged in his wardrobe. There were not many of them but there had been none before Chandler. But then again maybe he wouldn't changes his clothes, he quite liked his new smart look. He decided that he was going to keep wearing them and picked out his favourite one. Kent chose a tie and put it around his neck. He put on his waistcoat. It was sufficiently snug around his middle. Like it matter any more. Chandler was gone. Those words were on repeat in his head. Chandler was gone. Chandler was gone. Chandler was_ GONE_.

And someday the pain Kent felt in his chest thinking those words would be gone as well, and the thought of Chandler wouldn't make him cry like he had cried himself to sleep the night before. And on that day, the day when Chandler finally would be out of his heart, his mind and his system, on that day Kent would be able to live again. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel. No more longing, no more torment and hopefully no more anger. Kent was finally going to focus solely on being a police man. His dream.

Yet, when Kent opened the door to the incident room his eyes searched for Chandler as they always did. Every bloody time he didn't control himself his damn eyes went looking for Chandler as a heat seeking missile, and he never felt completely at ease until his gaze rested on the other man. Kent had gotten so used to scanning every room for his boss that he didn't even think about it any more. He knew that people had noticed, he knew there where gossip but the target himself still had seemed oblivious. At least until yesterday.

Riley and Mansell were already at their desk.

- "Oi, look who finally showed?" Mansell greeted Kent with a big grin. "The bosses are out and you decide to bunk off?"

- "Sod off".

- "Ohh touchy this morning?"

Kent just shrugged, ignoring the other DC. He nodded good morning to Riley who gave him a smile in return. He draped his jacket carefully over his chair and made sure that no wrinkles were left in the not so expensive fabric. _I don't have to do this anymore either_ he thought and with a sigh he sat down. Of course he just had to look up at the office at the end of the room. Empty. He wondered when it would be filled again. Kent hoped that the next DI would be nothing like DI Norray. He would hate that.

He pulled out the Abrahamian case file and got to work. He didn't feel relieved any more. He just felt incredibly sad.

* * *

Kent heard Chandler's voice before he saw him.

-"Good Morning."

Kent slow turned around. Chandler was standing in the doorway with Miles just a few steps behind. Kent felt his heart, all his inside, just crumble. What was HE doing there? Chandler had said he wouldn't come back. Bloody hell. Kent bit his lip. It must be Miles doing, probably forcing Chandler to give a public farewell. Kent threw a quick glance at Mansell and Riley. It would only be fair to them, he thought, to get the chance to say a proper goodbye. He knew that they genuinely liked Chandler, even Mansell although he gruffed and scuffed about their boss being anal.

Chandler walked up to the whiteboard and started to write. Kent frowned. What could Chandler possibly have to write on the whiteboard? A goodbye poem?

_Every word you speak now seems like a long goodbye, A silent farewell, another off those countless nails, Another dull thud of steel driven into the open casket of all my hopes and dreams_. The poem of Keats popped up in Kent's head, another of Chandler's influences on him.

- "We have new case, Philip Black, 38," Chandler's voice filled the incident room, and startled Kent. "He was found dead at approximately 4:05 this morning behind the bar Rhythm factory on Whitechapel Road. Preliminary rapport from the crime scene puts the time of death between 2 and 3am. Death by asphyxiation. The killer then went on to stab the victim multiple times."

All eyes were on Chandler, if anyone had looked closely at Kent they would have seen confusion in his gaze. What was going on? How could there be a new case? The DI was transferring.  
But no one looked at Kent, most certainly not Chandler, who seemed to look anywhere else but at him. Good as well because Kent didn't want to have the man's blue eyes fixed on him at this moment. He couldn't get a grip on his emotion. They must be written all over his face.

- "Right," Chandler continued after a seconds pause. "We need to know more about the victim. Riley I want you to look him up, job, known address, friends. The complete history. We need to get a hold of people who actually knew him. And speak to the PC and DC:s who visited the crime scene. Get all the information they might have gathered."

- "Sir, why weren't we called to the scene?" she asked.

- "This case was especially assigned to us afterwards. The body is being delivered to Llewellyn as we speak. We will have the complete forensic rapport tomorrow. Mansell, Kent" Chandler threw a quick glance at Kent before turning directly to Mansell. "Go have a look around at the Rhythm Factory and speak to the barman who found the body. We know that the victim had been to the bar that night. He was found wearing their entrance bracelet."

- "The Rhythm Factory is that gay bar right?" asked Riley, "Is this a hate crime?"

- "That's what we'll have to found out." Chandler continued. "We have reason to believe that Philip was a drug addicted and maybe even a prostitute. Miles, can you speak to Vice? We need to have it confirmed that Philip Black indeed was on the game." Chandler was done giving out orders. He clapped his hands together and smiled a cold smile that never reached his eyes. "Let's get to work, and solve this quickly." Chandler started to walk towards his office but stopped in the doorway.

- "Kent, could I speak to you in my office?" he asked.

Kent could only nod and rose to join his superior. Chandler held the door open and Kent went in first. It all felt like a dream, like a nightmare. Maybe he was still asleep. Maybe this was his minds screwed up way to deal with Chandler leaving.

- "What is going on?" Kent started to speak as Chandler closed the door behind them.

- "Things have taken a little turn, and I'm not leaving quite yet. I'm sorry but I need you to keep quiet about me transferring." Chandler stood in front of the door and seemed uninterested in sitting down behind his desk. "The commander is forcing me to investigate one more death as a favor to a friend. And well, I think the others don't have to know about me leaving until afterwards. I think it would be for the best."

- "But yesterday..."

- "Can we forget about yesterday? At least for a couple of days?"

Kent's eyes were firmly locked at his shoes. He couldn't look at Chandler, felt to embarrassed for the things he had said the night before. The love he had admitted without saying it directly. He fiddled with his tie, so anxious, so out of place.

- "I said some thing's yesterday", he started to say when Chandler cut him off.

- "You said nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing that has to be a problem."

The anger filled Kent like a fire. It happened so fast and he lashed out without thinking about it.

- "You are the one that should be ashamed. You fooled me. And I'm not going to let you do that again." Kent pushed past Chandler and went back to his desk to grab his jacket.

- "C'mon then", he called angrily to Mansell and walked out of the incident room

- "Oi, wait. Keep your hair on." Mansell hurried to his feet but Kent was already out the room. "That one is really grumpy today,"

- "Then you behave". Riley said with her eyes peeled at her screen.

- "Wonder what the boss might have said to piss him off even more?" Mansell looked back to Chandler who had sat down, hunched over his desk. The DI's finger were firmly pressed to his temples.

- "Oh, Don't go messing with that. Just leave Kent alone now yeah?" Riley pleaded with Mansell. The other DC just grinned.

- "Don't you worry I'll get our baby boy in a better mood. I'll have him laughing in no time."

- "No Mansell, you'll have him clocking you in no time. Just leave him be, ok hun'?"

* * *

- "How many gay guys does it take to screw in a light bulb? What, you don't know that one either? It's easy. It takes two. You know why? Oh c'mon Kent, guess?" When Kent didn't say anything Mansell called out, very pleased with himself. "One to call the electrician, the other to mix the cocktails!" Mansell laughed hard at his own joke.

Kent sighed and stepped out off the car. The entire drive down to the Rhythm factory Mansell had told one bad gay joke after another. He was really sick off it. But at least Mansells relentless chatter made impossible for Kent to think too hard about Chandler, about Chandler staying, about sentiments. Yesterday it had seemed like Chandler too had admitted things, feelings. But today, in broad daylight, the conversation seemed totally different to Kent. Only he had talked about emotions, Chandler had been kind and proper as always. Chandler didn't have feelings for him. There hadn't been any deeper meanings in Chandler's eyes. It was all just in Kent's head. Oh God, he just wanted to disappear, vanish off the face of the earth so he didn't have to see or be near Chandler. And the bastard wasn't even leaving, Kent felt betrayed.

- "Please can you just try to be a little professional now?" He said tiredly and started walking towards the alley where Philip Black had been found. He said as much to himself as to Mansell.

- "Oi Kent," Mansell called after him, "is this our first bona fide HOMOcide?"

Kent tried to block out the other man's voice and concentrate on his work. There wasn't much interesting to see in the alley. It was pretty much clean. Some boards were stacked in the far corner but otherwise it was empty. It was used as a loading area for the Rhythm factory. Two white lines went straight down the road. On the left one there were some red blotches. Blood. It must be where the victim was found, Kent thought.

-" Wasn't the victim stabbed multiple times? he asked Mansell.

-" Yeah, the boss said to torso and legs."

- "Not much blood here."

- "He was strangled as well. The bloke must have been dead when he was stabbed."

- "Then why do both?" Kent squatted down and looked carefully at the spots of blood on the scene. He wanted to get closer as if the blood would whisper and tell him who the killer was.

- "Strangle to kill, stab to send a message" he mumbled to himself.

- "Not many places for a killer to hide." Mansell was looking around the alleyway.

- "Maybe they walked out together." Kent nodded towards a back door in the middle of the red bricked wall of the bar. He rose. "Should we go in and have a chat with the barman then?" Kent started walking towards the entrance without waiting for a response.

- "Kent, Did you hear about the two gay guys that had an argument in a bar?"

- "Are you saying we have another serial killer," Kent said jestingly.

- "No, you tosser. It's a joke. So have you heard it?" No answer from Kent. "They went outside to exchange blows."

* * *

- "Seems like the bar was one of Philip Blacks usually hangouts. The barman confirmed it, but he couldn't say much more." Mansell told Chandler when they got back. "He didn't know where Black lived or could tell us any names of people that might. The owner, Gideon st Claire, had made a great fuss about people selling drugs and prostitution at his place and Philip Black had been banned for some time. He had just recently returned."

- "That's all?," Chandler asked. He couldn't help to glance over to Kent sitting at his desk out in the incident room. Usually when he sent out Mansell and Kent it was the younger man who came in and gave the rapport. Was the young DC so angry with him? But why would he be? Chandler couldn't really wrap his head around it and he didn't have the time to dwell on it.

- "Well both Kent and I could see that there were cameras up all over the bar but when we asked about the tapes the barman claimed that none of them were working."

- "If there is surveillance tapes from yesterday we need to get a hold of it. The CCTV hasn't given us anything yet. Try to get this Gideon St Claire to come in. Maybe he has more to say about Black being band. That's all, thanks." Chandler said dismissively. As soon as Mansell left his office Chandler took out his tiger balm and started to rub it into his temples. This case wasn't moving along as it should. Not fast enough. They didn't seem to get any information about Philip Black. No address, no friends, no motive. Nothing at all. Chandler had to put on some more balm. The smell filled his office and the warmth calmed him down a bit. Why hadn't Kent given him the rapport? Why was that fact bothering him so much?

* * *

- "Riley, What do you call a gay bar with no bar stools?" Mansell continued to tell jokes.

- "Give it a rest now," the female DC answered. "Concentrate on reading the police records instead. I would like to go home to my kids sometime soon."

- "A fruit stand." No one laughed. "Oh c'mon. I'm the only one with a sense of humour around here? How do you know a copper is a homo?"

Kent had had enough. All day had he listen to Mansell go on and on and on. Kent's emotions were all over the place with Chandler leaving, then staying. He was tired, embarrassed, angry, and most of all he just wanted punch Mansell.

- "How the hell do you know? Tell us!" Kent yelled out angrily. He rose so quickly that his chair fell to the floor. He walked up to Mansell and shoved a finger in the other man's chest. "Well, if you are such a bloody expert then tell me, how do you know a copper is gay?"

- "Calm down, mate, don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm just having a laugh."

- "Do you see anyone else laughing?" Kent's face was dark with anger.

- "Sod of, what's it to you?"

- "I am one, ok? A bloody fruitcake, a fag. You can't possible know how to tell if a copper is a homo 'cos you've been working with one for years and you seem to have no idea. So just shut the bloody hell up for once! If you make one more joke I'll rip your brains out through your ears."

- "Ok, that's enough then." Miles put a firm hand on Kent's shoulder. "One more word out of you and you'll be out of here, understand?" the last comment was directed to Mansell.

- "I didn't mean anything of it. Just having some fun." Mansell muttered and returned to the files looking like a five-year old getting caught doing something bad.

Miles guided Kent back to his seat, still with the hand firmly placed on the DC's shoulder. Miles gave it a warm squeeze when Kent sat down, and said quietly:

- "Good on you son. Well done."

Kent was in a daze. He hadn't meant to say it, to come out at his workplace like that. The anger had gotten a hold of him. A quiet smiled formed in the corner of his mouth. It was all out now. Chandler knew of his feeling, the team knew he was gay. No more secrets. He looked up and saw Chandler standing in the doorway to his office, staring at him. Kent stared back. Chandler looked frightened.  
Riley came up and gave Kent a warm hug from behind.

-"I'm so proud of you!" she whispered in his ear. Kent could feel himself blush but before he could answer Riley had walked away. Kent looked up towards Chandler's office again. The DI had disappeared and his office was empty.


	3. Chapter 3

He fled. Red flashes and shrieking sounds followed him. His skin was itching, crawling.

_Don't put them all in the same van!_

His skin burned while words, memories was battling inside his heads.

_She is something more, something much worse._

Everything was out of order. Nothing was as it should.

_Is it just me?_

He waited for the soothing sound of water flowing. It didn't come.

_Do this or stay in Whitechapel for ever._

Chandler wailed in agony. The panic grew within him.

_I am one!_

He needed water or the bacterias would eat him alive. He needed to get clean to stop the world crashing down around him.

- "You won't get a wash off in here, boss," Miles found Chandler in the bathroom desperately turning every tap. "The water is turned off while they fix the pipes after the Iver woman's attack."

- "But I must." The desperation in Chandler's voice was bare and raw. Miles handed him a moist wipe. Chandler reached out and grabbed it with a shaking hand. He let the wipe pass over his hand and face. It felt cool and actually helped, a bit, slightly.

-"It's antibacterial."

Chandler managed to smile towards Miles and thanked him. Miles just nodded.

- "I'll tell my Judy to buy some more. They are for the baby, but they might come in handy here in the office as well."

Chandler let out a puff of air. The panic had subdued, control was returning to him. The itch clawing on his skin had faded away.

- "Miles, who will I manage without you?"

- "Why would you need to?"

Chandler let the wipe move over his hands again and again. He hesitated to tell the DS the truth, to tell his friend that he soon would be gone. Because that was what they were, right? Some kind of friendship had grown between them, hadn't it? Chandler couldn't bear to have Miles mad at him as well, it was enough with Kent.

- "You can't be my nanny forever. Eventually even I have to grow up," he said to afraid of Miles reaction to tell the truth.

- "Baby steps. You have to crawl before you can run."

Chandler laughed, a warm one, from the heart. He threw the wipe in the bin and straighten his shirt and jacket, trying to rebuild the world by adjusting his tie. He pulled out the little octagonal jar, his one true companion for many years, and put on some tiger balm.

- "Vice had some interesting things to say, and they are sending us one of their informants in the morning", said Miles and held the door open, waiting for the DI to walk past him. But Chandler stood still with his back turned to the other man.

- "He told me not to put them all in the same van."

- "Who?" asked Miles.

- "My father, in the letter."

- "So you read it then?"

Chandler didn't say anything, he just sighed heavily.

- "Miles, I don't think I can do this anymore." Their eyes met in the mirror, they looked at each other intently for a minute.

- "Why don't you go home?" Miles suggested. "The shift is soon over. Have a good shower and a nice sleep, and everything will seem different in the morning. The team and I will finish up. You'll see a full whiteboard when you get in tomorrow."

Chandler nodded, contemplating Miles words. Maybe he should go home.

- "You have us, you aren't alone in this. Rely on your team."

* * *

-"Do you have any more information about the Iver woman." Miles went directly to Buchan after he had made sure that Chandler walked out to his car and went home. Miles was worried about Chandler. This new case had come on so fast. They had hardly ended the Abrahamian case and that one had been a great blow to the DI. Even if Chandler didn't want to see it Miles was sure that Louise Iver was behind it all.

-"No, the provocateur still lurch in the shadows, not revealing her true face to us."

Miles sighed, he couldn't stand the other mans flair for the dramatic. He walked up to the map.

-"She is hiding somewhere. We need to find her soon. Joe can't handle much more."

- "How are our grand leader?" asked Buchan. Had it been anyone else saying it Miles would have taken it for sarcasm but he knew Buchan saw a kindred spirit in Chandler.

- "Soldiering on, but he is stumbling. I sent him home."

- "And he went?" Buchan sounded as surprised as Miles himself had been when Chandler had agreed to leave the station.

- "That if nothing else tells you how bad of a state he is in."

- "I won't leave this room until I can bring forth to you the answer to our dark questions."

- "Yeah alright, just get to work."

* * *

- "So Philip Black was indeed an addict but he wasn't on the game, not anymore at least," Miles said as he stood in front of the whiteboard with the rest of the team at their desk. Even Buchan had left his dwellings and had joined them in the incident room. Chandler was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed listening keenly as his team rapported on the case. He had slept the whole night through, thanks to sleeping pills, but he didn't feel well rested and things seemed to him much like they had yesterday. Nevertheless, Miles had been right about one thing. The whiteboard had been full when he came in. His team had done well, and it filled him with pride.

-"He had gotten to old for the punters," Miles continued "Vice think he had gone on to selling drugs instead, but he has never been arrested for it."

-"Seems like he didn't have a permanent address. Kept changing flats. No close friends but no enemies either." Riley read from her notebook. "Quite a sad life."

- "So we don't really have anything to go on." Chandler felt impatient and used his well-known commanding voice.

- "Not so much on Black perhaps but Vice had some interesting things to say about the Rhythm factory's, new owner, St Claire. Apparently he just got out of jail for causing grievous bodily harm. He served four years. And this is the interesting part. He had tried to kill an ex lover by strangling him."

Chandler and Miles had been to the mortuary first thing that morning to get Llewellyn's rapport. They now knew for certain that Philip Black had died by asphyxiation. The stab wounds weren't deep, but there had been over thirty of them. Black would have bled out if he had not been dead already when the killer had put the knife to him.

-"St Claire claimed he had no intent to kill the man, said that he was just overtaken by rage. Maybe he got into a fight with Black, perhaps over drugs or Black selling sex in the bar, and St Clarie once again got overpowered by rage.

- "It makes sense." Chandler felt the flutter of excitement. This could be a solid lead. He leaned on one of the desks. "He could be our killer." A normal killer, he thought. A case about money or sex. Human feelings, no evil demons. "We need to talk to him."

- "That's just it boss." Mansell started to speak. "We can't get a hold of him. We have called. We have gone to the bar, to his home. Looks like he is keeping low."

- "We need to talk to him." Chandler said it again with a look of grey sternness on his face. "Have the PC:s look for him on the streets."

Miles phone started to ring. He went to answer it.

- "Sir," Kent called on Chandler's attention, pulling on a stack of paper that the DI was sitting on. "I kind of need this."

- "I'm so sorry," Chandler said only then realising on who's desk he had propped himself on. "I didn't mean to.." He stopped in mid sentence not knowing for what he was apologising. Kent lined the papers on his desk.

- "Kent, are we ok?" Chandler asked lowering his voice so that the others wouldn't hear. "I hate you being mad at me, I didn't mean to..."

- "It's ok. We are ok." Kent cut him off. "I had a bad day yesterday, nothing you have to think about." Kent's voice was even lower than Chandler's and he didn't look at him when he spoke.

- "Kent, I.."

- "Boss, the informant is here." Miles yelled from the other side on the room. "Shall we go and have a chat with him?"

- "Of course." Chandler glanced down on Kent. The younger man was already busy at work. "Right then, if all is ok." he said and walked of.

* * *

**I had a hard time writing this chapter, writing and rewriting it several times. So I just made it shorter.**  
**I wanted Buchan to make an entrance but I don't particulate like him so he is hard for me to get right.**


	4. Chapter 4

Trevor McAllister had a quirky smile and an air about him that told Chandler that the informant, sitting on the other side of the table, was looking for adventure. In Chandler's experiences there were two types of informants, the ones who had gotten themselves in so much trouble that they had no choice but to cooperate. They were motivated by need, need of money or to stay out of jail. The other type, Trevor McAllister type, was looking for a thrill. Helping police and living a kind of double life gave them a sense of fun. Chandler didn't trust the adventurous types. They could sway at any minute, double cross at any point.  
The informant looked very young and was handsome in a boyish way with blonde bangs almost hiding his eyes.

- "How old are you?" asked Chandler.

- "Does it matter?"

- "Answer the question," Miles backed Chandler up as always.

- "I'm being interrogated?" Trevor McAllister blue eyes were bright with excitement. "I thought I was here as a favour. I thought I was going to help you lot out."

- "You are here to tell us what we want to know. Answer our questions." Miles used his intimidating DS tone that so often came in handy in the interrogation room. This time it didn't work. It just made Trevor laugh.

- "Oh just tell us what you want then." Chandler sighed. His patience with the informant was wearing thin very fast and he doubted that Trevor McAllister would tell them anything useful. "We are especially interested in Gideon St Claire so anything you can tell us about him." Chandler moved his hand in a go-right-ahead gesture to show the informant that it was his time to speak.

- "Well Gideon has a bad temper, and it has brought him all sorts of problems. When he gets angry he gets dangerous. Just look what he did to that ex lover of his. But since he got out he has tried to stay out of troubles. He is awfully afraid of you people. Last thing he wants is to go back in. That's why he came down hard on drugs and prostitution in his place. Band it all together. He really messed some lads up to send a message to the rest of them."

- "Did Philip Black get beaten up?" Chandler asked.

- "Yeah, He was sent to hospital with broken ribs and skull, and told never to come back. He hadn't come to the Rhythm factory in ages."

- "So what change?"

- "No idea. Everyone was surprised to see Philip there, but he said that it was all ok, that Gideon had let him back in."

- "Did you believe him?"

- "I had no reason not to. Why would he return if Gideon still were out to get him? It would have been suicide."

* * *

- "Sir, have you read the forensic rapport?" asked Kent. Chandler was writing the few new things they had gotten from Trevor McAllister on the whiteboard.

- "Yes." He answered without taking much notice of Kent's word. Chandler paused a moment and glanced at the picture of Philip and felt a bit guilty. With all the pressure of the case and things that had happened lately he had lost track of the victim, a victim that he once knew.

- "But sir, listen to this," Kent read out loud from the paper in front of him. "Nine stab wounds to the throat. Throat not cut. 17 stab wounds to the breast, including 5 stabs wounds to the left lung, 2 stabs to the right lung and 1 to the heart. The liver was stabbed 5 times; the spleen was stabbed twice; the stomach stabbed 6 times."

- "Bloody hell", Miles was the first to speak when Kent stopped reading. Chandler turned around, all white in the face, and just stared at Kent.

- "What's happening?" Mansell looked at Kent, Miles and Chandler. They all looked extremely serious and, for lack of a better word, frightened.

- "Jack!" Buchan had just entered the room and caught the last part of Kent's account. But he didn't have to hear more. His eyes were sparkling. "He's back."

- "No, he can't be." Miles rushed up to the whiteboard and pounded the photo of Philip Black that was pinned on the whiteboard along with words trying to describe the man's life and his last days. "This is a bloke. The Ripper kills women."

- "But he was a prostitute, and this injuries are too accurate to be a coincidence." Kent waved the forensic rapport in the air as to give more force to his words.

- "Too accurate to what?" asked Riley. She hadn't been with the team during the Ripper murders and didn't know the inner details of the case, nor did Mansell who looked more lost than usual.

- "The murder of Martha Tabram, the Ripper's first victim." Buchan's excitement was clear to everyone. "She was found early morning the 7 of august 19..."

-"Yes but she wasn't strangled was she?" Miles stopped Buchan before he could get started. "Philip Black was strangled"

- "Ah, There is a debate amongst ripperologist over that issue. There are several facts that point to..."

- "And Blacks injuries are mostly superficial. He wasn't ripped apart as Martha Tabram and the rest of the Ripper victims." Miles once again interrupted Buchan.

- "Someone is trying to make it look like the Ripper, Skip." said Kent. "Maybe someone who wants us to think about the Ripper but who doesn't want to be him."

Chandler just stood silent. He stared at the paper in Kent's hand while the others were going back and forth comparing the two murders. A dark cloud came over his face while he listened. He set his teeth as he heard the words exchange between Miles, Buchan and Kent.

- "Sir, don't you think." Kent turned directly to Chandler.

- "NO!" Chandler raised his voice with a firmness that startled them all. "This has NOTHING to do with Jack the ripper."

- "But sir."

-"Shut up Kent. I don't want to hear one more word about the Ripper."

Chandler stormed off to his office leaving the team exchanging baffled looks. No one had expected Chandler's reaction. It was so over the top and out of place. Kent rose quickly and left the room as well, with unshed tears in his eyes.

- "To hell with it then. To hell with you." Kent muttered.

Miles looked bewildered after Kent, then at Chandler in the office. The jar of pins had been placed in the middle of the DI:s desk and piles of different colours were starting to grow. Miles didn't know which one he should go after first.

* * *

Kent was done with Chandler. Done. No more. Finished. He stood by Chandler's car, not having a cry, he was forcing back the tears. He was done crying over that DI bastard. Kent was angry and he had to restrain himself from smashing Chandler's car to bits. Although it would serve the other man right.

He was done with loving his superior. From now on Kent told himself that he was going to hate Joseph Chandler. He stood there outside the station, leaned up against the brick wall and tried his hardest to recall all the times that Chandler had made him feel bad or mistreated him. He wanted to fuel his hate, but it just made him remember other moments that was much fonder to him, moments where Chandler had shown that he was a good, sensitive and kind man. Intelligent and intuitive as well. Kent put two more words to the list of Chandler's good qualities. It was hard for Kent to hate him, it was impossible. And there had always been reasons for Chandler's harsh action, or at least explanation. Even today.

- "You look like you need a fag". Trevor McAllister held out a pack of cigarettes to Kent.

- "No thanks. I don't smoke."

- "Rough day?" Trevor lit one for himself.

- "More like rough four years." Kent murmured. "I'm sorry have we met?"

- "No, you would have remembered meeting me. I have that effect on people. As you soon will find out."

- "What?" Kent chuckled and looked more closely at the very attractive man that seemed to be flirting with him. Maybe this is what I need, he thought. A fling with a handsome blond could make him forget all about Chandler, perhaps.

- "Hi, I'm Trevor." The man held out a hand towards Kent. "You're police then?"

- "Yeah, DC Kent."

- "No first name?" Trevor smiled and Kent shrugged. "You don't happen to work for DI Chandler, do you?"

- "Well, actually I do."

- "Ahh perfect." Another inviting smile. "I'll better be off then, I'll have to go look for some good information to give to your DI so I can get a chance to see you again." Trevor winked at Kent and walked off, leaving Kent with somewhat brighter thoughts.

* * *

Red, red, green, blue, another red one.

- "You said it yourself, Miles, not all case are serial killers." Chandler wasn't able to stop sorting the coloured pins. Green, green, yellow.

- "But lately it seems like they all are, at least for us." Miles had decided to talk to Chandler first. He had felt that the blond man needed him more. And the frantic way Chandler's hand moved from the jar to the different piles told him had chosen well.

- "We have a sound suspect in Gideon St Claire. We don't need to lose focus on insignificant details." Chandler didn't look at Miles as he spoke.

- "Since when do you ignore evidence or pass things of as insignificant details?"

Yellow, yellow, green, blue, red, yellow.

- "I agree with you. I like Gideon St Claire for this, he is our most interesting man." Miles continued. "We should put all our effort into finding him. But I doubt that the similarities to the Tabram murder is insignificant."

Chandler stopped arranging and looked up at Miles who went on speaking.

- "What if some else is behind St Claire? Whispering in his ear, telling him to kill like the Ripper."

- "You are talking about Louise Iver I suppose."

- "Yes!" Miles leaned forward, putting his hands on Chandler's desk. "She is behind all of this, I'm sure of it. That's why the murder looks like the Ripper. She is trying to wobble you. What would affect you more than a new Ripper?"

- "You think we are going to find more bodies."

- "Not if we catch St Claire before he gets another opportunity."

- "But we can't find him anywhere." Chandler raised his voice. Agitated and mad about everything.

- "The PC:s are looking for him."

- "Yes, but this is all moving along too slow. I can't wait for the PC:s to find St Claire. It has to happen NOW." Chandler almost screamed.

- "You could go to the bar." Miles suggested, trying to calm the DI down. "Have a look around. Take Kent with you. The rest of us would probably stick out as a sore thumb but you two could fit in. You could pass as a couple." Miles said the last part with a very straight face. Chandler looked uncomfortable with the idea. "Trevor McAllister could help you blend in,"

Chandler frowned. Trevor? He didn't like the idea. It felt unnecessary, and Chandler had not yet made up his mind whether or not the informant was trustworthy.

- "I'm not sure it's such a good idea. Last time it was quite a disaster."

- "You caught a perv last time, remember? And this time you don't have to worry about Mansell having a go at the birds, getting himself into trouble."

- "Kent is angry with me, and I just made it worse by screaming at him." Chandler took up one of the pins and rolled it between his fingers as he spoke. It was green.

- "He'll forgive you, he always does. He has forgiven you much worse before."

Chandler cringed. He didn't like to be reminded that he hadn't treated Kent as well as he should have in the past. He was painfully aware of the fact but he didn't want others to be it as well.

- "Anyway, if you ask him to go to a bar I'm sure he will be well chuffed." A smile lurked in the corner of Miles mouth.

-"Why would he..." Chandler let the sentence die out before he finished it.

- "He is a professional, he always does what his DI tells him. Why, did you think I meant something else?" This time the amusement was obvious on Miles face.

* * *

- "My, you look good. You must be the prettiest policeman I ever seen."

- "I'm not sure I want to be thought of as pretty."

- "I can think of you in any way you like to. Just tell me how you want it"

Chandler looked with dread at the two men in front of him. Trevor was obviously coming on to his DC. It wasn't professional. He could see how Kent's neck change colour, just under his dark curls the skin went from pale to red. It wasn't proper, not while working. He cleared his voice.

- "You two know each other?" Chandler said to break the moment between the two other men.

- "No, not yet but soon maybe," Trevor smiled a big grin at both of them. Kent returned it all though a bit more shyly. Chandler moved his lips in something that looked more like a grimace then a smiled

- "We met briefly outside the station earlier." Kent explained.

Miles had of course been right about Kent, when asked to do something he always did it. Always a professional. It was Miles that had told Kent to go to the bar. Chandler didn't dare to. He still felt that Kent was upset with him. The DC avoided eye contact and barely spoke to him, but he did his job. Chandler just wished that he knew how to fix it, to fix it all so they could go back to the way it was before, when things were normal. How long back was that actually? Before the Kray's? Before that Chandler had sent Kent out alone to get hurt? Before that he had accused Kent of being a mole? Think about it Chandler couldn't say if things ever had been normal between them, not even in the beginning. Maybe anger and avoiding eye contact was normality to them? Even so it wasn't the type of normal that Chandler wanted.

Trevor led them up to the bar and put beers in their hands.

- "To blend in." he said and fired of another grin, mostly directed to Kent. Chandler decided that he couldn't stand the supposedly informant. Trevor had yet to inform them of anything they couldn't have found out on their own. Chandler would let Miles deal with the man from now on. Or Kent, he thought and once more looked at the DC:s neck. His colour had calmed down and was now more an excited pink. Kent didn't seem to dislike Trevor, but he couldn't possible welcome the advances. Could he?

Trevor put a hand on Kent's shoulder and leaned in closer.

- "Just tell me if you need to investigate the dance floor. I'll gladly help." Trevor winked at Kent. Winking? It was most unsuitable behaviour. An informant should respect his DC and Chandler didn't feel that Trevor's manors were respectable. But Kent didn't seem to mind. Chandler's mouth felt dry and he took a sip of the beer. Kent laughed at something that the Trevor character whispered into Kent's ear. Whispering now as well? This had to stop. He took two big gulps more.

- "If you two don't mind, we are here to work. We aren't out on a lash." Chandler didn't know why his voice had gone up an octave in the end or why Trevor felt the need to look at him like he knew something. Kent straightened himself and said

- "Yes of course sir. Sorry, sir."

* * *

They had been there for about two hours and nothing good had really come out if. At least Chandler didn't have to think about the Ripper or Louise Iver, or other subjects he desperately wanted to avoid.

Interviewing drunks was the worst thing in Chandler's mind. Their breath made it impossible for him to stand close enough to hear what was being said over the loud horrible music. He had talked to some people that had seen Philip the night before, some that claimed to be his friends but they didn't know much more about the victim than his parents had. Chandler was getting impatient and anxious. He didn't like this place. Too many bodies moving around, bumping into him. The air had a distinct smell of sweat and old alcohol. He hated the way the bass pounded in his chest. It felt like an intrusion.

He looked around. His eyes stopped at his DC. The DC. DC Kent, Chandler corrected himself. Kent had an easier job talking to the people at the bar. He was much more relaxed. He fitted in. Maybe this was his sort of place. Maybe this was a place Kent visited with his friends. The Trevor character, Chandler had decided to call him that from now on, walked up to Kent. Again. The man had kept himself near Kent all night. Chandler quickly moved across the room and joined the two men, somehow ending up standing in between them.

- "Any luck?" he asked.

- "Well our pretty boy here has managed to get quite a lot of numbers, haven't you?" Trevor smiled at Kent, whose skin colour went up to a flaming red.

- "Potential witnesses?" Chandler wondered. He hadn't thought that it would be possible for Kent to get even more red in the face but it was. Trevor laughed.

- "No, people who want to shag him of course." Trevor gave Chandler a defying look, to see if his words would get a reaction out of Chandler. The look annoyed Chandler more than the word.

- "Is St Claire even here?" he roared.

- "It doesn't seem like it." Trevor answered with a shrug and without care.

- "Then this has been a total waste of time." And pretty much the closest thing to hell Chandler could think of.

- "We could try to have a look in his office." Kent's idea. "It doesn't' seem to be any real security at this place. I doubt anyone will notice."

Life came back to Chandler's eyes.

- "Where's the office?" he asked.

Trevor pointed down a hall at the back of the bar.

- "Come on then." Chandler made his way over the dance floor and the other two followed.

- "You stay here," Chandler ordered Trevor. "Try to let us know if someone comes."

The office was very small, not much more than a cupboard. But it was plastered with paper and stuff. Seeing the room, being inside such a messy place, sent chills down Chandler's spine. He didn't want to touch anything. A half eaten sandwich was left on a plate in the middle of the desk, the crust had started to change colour into bluish green. And then there was the smell.

- "It kind of reminds you of how the incident room looked like before doesn't it?" Kent said and pulled out a pair of gloves and gave to Chandler. "Why don't you look by the shelves, sir? I can take the desk."

Chandler gave him a grateful look. The desk was by far the messiest in the room. I don't deserve him, he thought. How could I ever deserve someone like him? No other DC would ever understand and accept him and his neuroses like Kent did.

- "What are we looking for, Sir?"

- "Anything so we can link St Claire to Philip Black. Some video surveillance would be great. A written confession". Chandler smiled towards Kent. The other man returned it, warmly. And Chandler felt a flutter of hope, but for what he didn't know.

* * *

- "Sir, take a look at this. I think I've found something."

Chandler walked up to Kent to see what the DC had found.

- "Oh come on, I'm just standing here." All of a sudden they heard Trevor talking with a high voice. "Piss off I said, I'm just waiting for my friends, having a snog in there."

Chandler and Kent exchanged quick looks. It would be very bad if they got caught in the office. Chandler looked around the room in a panic. Where were they to go?  
They could hear footsteps rapidly approaching the door. Before Chandler could react or think Kent's hand was on his neck and the DC drew him closer. Chandler could feel Kent's breath on his skin, just under his jaw line. It was warm. Every muscle in Chandler's body tensed and he couldn't move, trapped in a desire both to push the other man away and to draw him closer. Kent pressed him up against the wall and whispered.

- "Just pretend."

Kent's mouth touched Chandler's ear as he spoke and the DI had to gasp for air. The same mouth moved south, leaving a trail of warmth. As the capacity of thought returned to Chandler he realized the other man's plan. He tore off his gloves and put his hands on Kent's waist. Chandler was struck by how slim the other man was, but still he could feel Kent's muscles under his shirt. Chandler pressed himself even closer, only so they would seem like two regular guest looking for a private moment. Still just pretending, Chandler tilted back his head giving Kent better access to him. The younger man's lips moved along his main artery, tasting his superior's skin. It wasn't real, it's was only so they wouldn't get caught. Chandler had to focus on breathing, on keep calm, on not making any sounds. Kent's lips reached his own.

-"What the hell? Out of here you twats."

Kent was roughly pulled away from him, and Chandler had to gasp for air once more when the cool air hit him where Kent's warm lip just had been. Two large gorillas had entered the room, not happy with what they had found.

- " Oi, this is private area."

- "But we weren't doing anything," Kent cried out and stumbled as he was pushed out of the office. Chandler felt fingers press around his neck on the spot where Kent just a few seconds ago had rested his hand.

- "Out of here, and don't come back. Escort them to the streets, and rough them up".

* * *

The roughing up part hadn't been that rough. A few hits in the stomach, the wind beaten out of them but not much more. Nothing they couldn't dust off as they limped away from the bar.

- "So did you find anything?" asked Trevor.

With an expression of triumph Chandler held up two DVDs labelled camera 1 and camera 2.

- "Good thing St Claire knows how to label," Trevor said sarcastically. Chandler ignored the comment.

- "Thank you for your help but your service won't be needed any more." He said in an attempt to make the informant leave.

-"What? The fun is already over? Here I was thinking that the night could end with a smaller get together at my flat." Trevor looked invitingly at Kent "What do you say? Are you keen, sweetheart?"

- "No!" Kent looked horrified and embarrassed at the same time. "I'm .. Thanks but no thanks. I'm working."  
Chandler couldn't help but to smile at the astonishment on Trevor Mcalister's face. The informant wasn't used to people saying no to him.

- "You're making me work hard for it aren't you? Well next time then?"

Trevor left Chandler and Kent standing alone on the street. Kent started to kick something small with his left foot. Chandler couldn't see what it was. But both men's gaze were locked on Kent's feet, afraid that they had to look each other in the eyes otherwise.

- "Do you want me to drop you of somewhere?" Chandler was the first to speak.

- "Thank you, Sir but I have my moped."

- "It's no trouble Kent. I have my car here. I'll take you home if you want to."

- "It will be easier tomorrow if I have my moped." Kent explained

- "Of course."

It was awkward. None of them knew what to say.

- "I'm sorry if it was uncomfortable. Just thought it was the best thing to do after Trevor had called out like that." Kent was the brave one, the one who dare mention what the both of them were thinking about.

- "You don't have to say sorry. It was good quick thinking of your part. You would be good undercover. We wouldn't have been able to get the discs out if it hadn't been for you. And it was you that found them as well. Excellent job."

- "Still, I know you don't like to be touched. And I touched you quite a bite." Kent's skin changed color again. Chandler hoped that his own cheeks weren't as red. He felt like they were though.

- "It must have been uncomfortable for you as well." Images of the night's events fluttered before Chandler and made it hard for him to get the words out.

- "It wasn't the first time I kissed a man." Kent tried to make the whole thing into a joke.

- "Me neither." Chandler had said it with a low voice, muttered it to himself. But Kent heard.

* * *

They had wandered into his hunting grounds, the blond one and the dark curly one. He could easily have taken him then and there, but the time wasn't right. He had others to kill before. His hands had twitched with desire. He wanted to put his fingers around the man's fragile neck and demonstrate his power. He was fantasizing of what the knife would do to the policeman's skin. He wouldn't find his fourth victim to night as he had planned, not with them lurking around. Maybe he needed to find a new waterhole for his hunting trips? Or maybe not. They hadn't noticed anything, had they?  
He had stood by his side, actually touching him. Him, the one he was going to kill, later on, when he was told to. Oh what a feeling it had been touching the living man thinking of how he would look like dead on the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

It happened one autumn. The leaves had been rustling, the rain had drizzled down and all those other things normally associated with autumn. Chandler was 17 and _**he**_ was a year younger but Chandler's older in everything else. **_He_** was new, had just started, and Chandler was assigned to show _**him**_ around, to mentor the younger pupil. _**He**_ had lived _**his**_ whole life abroad and had a hard time to fit in. Perhaps that was what drew them to each other. They both saw a kindred spirit in the other. Someone else who didn't quite fit the boarding school form.

It had started as a friendship that grew and grew and grew until it was all consuming and all that existed. The first sign was a hand that stayed one second too long. The second a conversation where the words ended but their gazes deep into each others eyes lingered. Then it evolved, to touches, to kisses, to stealing moments in hide away places. Chandler was a novices, _**he**_ knew just a little more, but they learnt, together.

It was the first time Chandler let someone close. _**He**_ understood Chandler, understood his compulsions. There was no need to hide from _**him**_. When Chandler felt weak _**he**_ was strong. When Chandler was full of self doubt _**he**_ was sure. When Chandler tried to push away _**he**_ moved in closer. And for once the closeness felt good.

Chandler's small habits, having to count backwards from a hundred before leaving a room, flipping every switch in the house on and off before he could go to bed, wash his hands precisely quarter to every other hour, all those things he had to do so the whole world wouldn't come crashing down, so his mother wouldn't die, they were made easier by the other boy. **_He_** shared them with Chandler, flipped switches with him, leaned up against the sink next to him, just waited by the door as if what Chandler was doing was perfectly normal. Slowly, day by day, Chandler's routines lost their importance, the angst mellowed and the what if's became quieter. And it was because of _**him**_.

But then they were found out. Their house-master had opened a door they thought was locked. And with the creaking of old boards everything was brought to the light. People were called, meetings were held. Commander Anderson sat Chandler down and with a stern faces talked to him about unacceptable behaviour and the way of the world. There were plans that should be followed. His father's wishes to fulfil. Chandler heard the words life choice for the first time and he understood that it would be dire if he didn't chose wisely.

The unfortunate situation, as the adults had put it, was kept quiet. _**He**_ was taken away and sent to another school. Chandler felt a great void, but he never admitted it out loud to anyone. His heart was ripped apart but Chandler didn't flinch. He just made his upper lip stiff.

Of course it was just youthful folly. Some experimentation that he would grow out of. If he just pushed it all down, hid it away deep inside then it would soon be a distant memory. Because it wasn't love, how could it be? He was to young to know what love was. At least that was what he was told, over and over again, until he believed it.

But sometimes, even years afterwards, when the dark moods hit him, Chandler wondered if that was the truth. Sometimes when he sat in the dark with alcohol in his system and brain, he thought that maybe those feelings he had felt for the other boy just might have been love after all.

* * *

_Why had he done that?_

They were in opposite sides of London but the same thought pass through both of their minds at exactly the same time  
Chandler had sloped down in his sofa, staring vacantly into the air. A glass of vodka was placed at the table in front of him. He hadn't touched it yet. Kent had just turned the kettle on, he was searching the kitchen cupboards for a clean mug.  
Both men had the nights events etched in their memories, trying to wrap their heads around what had happened. Kent was moving as in slow motion, making tea without thinking about it. Chandler was trapped in a stillness that didn't mimic his inner thoughts. His mind raced.

_Oh, Why had he done that?_

Ken grabbed a blue mug. It's message of "Keep calm" was utterly ironic this evening. Kent thought about his mouth on Chandler's lips, on Chandler's neck, on Chandler's ear, to keep calm was impossible. With a sigh he realized he was out of teabags. He nicked one of his flatmates Darjeelings. Not his favourite but had to do. He sat down at the kitchen table, slowly turning the mug between his finger and with his gaze lost in it's muddy coloured content.

_Why, damn it, why had he done that?_

Chandler lean forward and gulped down the vodka, wondering if Kent had heard his hushed admission. He didn't know what had possessed him to say it. But the other man hadn't let on if he heard or not. Kent just said his goodbye and disappeared on his moped without saying a word about it. Chandler poured himself some more vodka. He didn't drink it, just ended up covering the glass with his hand. His knuckles whitened as his grip grew stronger. The muscles in his arm trembled. The night had taken an unexpected turn, Chandler could never have imagined himself snogging his DC. Even if it was only pretend, Kent's lips had been on his skin and it had awaken a long lost desire in Chandler.

_God, why had he done that?_

The tea was still too warm and Kent burnt his lip. With a hiss he put down the mug. Snap out of if, you bloody idiot, Kent told himself. Tonight he had gotten the last proof that his unrequited love was just that, unrequited. Chandler had tensed up and his whole body had oust out discomfort. It had felt like kissing a statue. A beautiful marble statue, that was what Chandler was to him. Unreachable and impossible to have. Exquisite and strong in a distant but if you came up close you could see tears and crackles in it's surface. Kent had seen the panic in Chandlers eyes when he moved in close. He knew it wasn't welcome. He had seen it and felt it.

_Why the hell had he done that?_

He could have reacted in a million different ways, but instead Chandler had played along. He wasn't sure why, but he had enough self aware to admit to himself that it had next to nothing to do with the case. Something inside of him wanted Kent close. He had wanted it for ages but it had been a dim vague want that he could ignore. But a few hours ago when Kent had pushed his body up against Chandler's, when Kent's smell filled his nostrils and he had felt the other man's pulse, then it had all become evidently clear for him. Chandler wanted Kent, like he had never wanted anything or anyone before. But it was impossible. He had to fight his feelings, stop thinking of the way Kent's lips had moved along his neck when Chandler had tilted his head.

_Bloody hell, why had he done that?_

Kent was trapped, he was locked in a hell constructed out of his own emotions. It was clear to him that Chandler didn't feel the same, that he never would. He didn't understand why the other man had muttered: Me neither. It was probably Chandler's way to let Kent down easy. It must be. Chandler wanted to let him know that he had tried it on with a man before and that it wasn't for him. What other reason could Chandler have to confess something like that?  
Kent needed to get over Chandler, or he would go insane. He chuckled to himself and sipped some tea. Go insane? He was already insane. He had just kissed his boss. Undercover, his arse. It had nothing to do with quick thinking. He wanted to kiss Chandler and he took the change when he had it. He hadn't thought anything, he had just done it. Because the opportunity presented itself. But it had backfired, hadn't it?  
He sighed, again, and pushed himself up from the table. Kent was so awfully tired, he needed to go to bed, he needed to sleep. His legs ached as they always did after a long day. It was The Kray's saying hello, not allowing him to forget.

_Bollocks, Why oh why had he done that?_

The vodka had started to kick in. It clouded Chandler's mind, flooded him with relief. He didn't want to deal with emotions and desire. He never really had to before. Or at least not since he was a teenager and it all just got more complicated with age, for him in any case. Sure there had been relationships, there had been women. Not a lot of them, but still Chandler had tried. But it had always been such a hassle and never seemed to be worth it. Chandler didn't not know what love was but he was certain he hadn't experienced it.  
Or had he, when he was 17? He was told so many times that he had been too young to love, too young to understand, that his feelings were wrong and prohibited. But no matter what the feeling was called, he had felt it strongly.  
Fuelled by much more vodka than what was good for him, Chandler had to admit that similar feelings had started to grown inside of him again. They had pestered him since he started at Whitechapel and a young DC had given him chalk. Chalk of all things. Can love really start with chalk?

_Why, oh god bloody hell, why had he done that?_

Kent walked over to the sink. He watched the golden fluid swirl down the drain as he poured out the cold tea. Wouldn't it be great to have a giant sink for emotions? Where he could just poor all his misguided love for Chandler and have it disappear, so he could be free. The thought made him smile a sad smile. His phone buzzed.

So did u & the boss get lucky? ;)

A text from Mansell. The double meaning was obvious. The twatt. Kent replied with a loving:

F off!

Kent still hadn't come to terms with his twin sister relationship with Mansell. He couldn't understand how his sister wanted to shag the same person he, most of the time, wanted to kill. Since their last blow out in the incident room, Mansell had done an effort to be on Kent's good side. Bring him tea and offering to do minor boring task so that Kent wouldn't have to. It was Mansell's way to say he was sorry, probably influenced by Erica. He knew that Mansell deep inside was a good guy. It was just that you had to look so terrible deep inside.  
His phone buzzed again.

U k bum? /E

Erica's use of Kent's childhood nickname made him smile. She must be with Mansell or their text wouldn't have come so close. They spent to much time together. She basically lived with Mansell. Kent hardly could see his sister without spending time with Mansell as well and he had enough of that at work.

Yeah fine  
or I would be if u 2 sodded off and let me be

But he wasn't ok. He hadn't been for a very long time. Something had to change, after tonight something had to change. He had to change. He couldn't go on loving any more.

_Why had he fucking done that?_

* * *

Chandler woke up in the sofa with a sorry head. Once again he had drunk himself to unconsciousness. If he didn't have so many other things to worry about he would have realized that the habit was becoming a problem. But as it was now, he just shook his head and forgot about it. He did the same with the realisation of feelings he had the night before. Kent was nothing more to him than a DC. A good valuable member of his team. Chandler had no place for want in his life. There existed no desire and must certainly no love.

Chandler looked at his watch. It was to early to get ready for work but it was too late to go to bed and sleeping on the sofa was the last thing he wanted. He rubbed his temples with closed eyes. Everything was slipping away from him. With a big yawn he rose and walked out to the kitchen. Tea would do him good, and maybe something to eat. There wouldn't be much in the fridge but he should at least have some toast stowed away somewhere. He ate over the sink. The last thing he needed was crumbles messing up the apartment. Nor did he need emotions messing up his life. Order and control, that was what he longed for.

When he was done eating Chandler still didn't quite know what to do with himself. He search his apartment for something to occupy him, stop his mind from wondering in unwanted direction. Chandler's eyes stopped at the two DVD's they had taken from St Clarie's office. The case, proof, the reason they had went to the bar. The only thing worth remembering and what he should focus on.  
He grabbed them and went back to the sofa. The first image on the screen was from inside the bar. The DVD named camera 1 was filmed with one of those sweeping cameras that slowly scanned the whole bar. In the bottom left corner the date was printed. Chandler fast forward to the night of Philips murder. The image was blurry. It was hard to see anything but a mass of people drinking, dancing and having a good time. Chandler tried to make out Philips face but he didn't see the victim anywhere. He would let Riley go through the whole tape at the station, frame by frame. She had a keen eye for CCTV and more importantly the patience for it. Something that Chandler didn't have.

With a frustrated huff he changed DVD. Ah this is more like it, he muttered to himself. The second disk was from the alley. From it's angle Chandler drew the conclusion that the camera must be situated at the street corner just below the roof. It showed most of the alley but from a distant. Not much seemed to happen in the alley. It was only visited by barmen leaving garbage and garbage men picking it up. Until the night of Philip Black's murder. Chandler's breathing almost stopped when the image of two men appeared on his screen. Not knowingly, Philip turned to face the camera. His face was clear, he looked eager. He pulled the other man's arm. Not in anger but invitingly. They hurried towards the wall on the opposite side. The man pushed Philip against the red bricks, his back was turned to the camera. Philip laughed and opened his arms for the other man who fervently kissed him. The images made Chandler's stomach behave strangely and he swallowed dryly.

Then all of the sudden the scene change. The man turned Philip around, it was an act of aggression. It looked like Philip tried to protest, but the other man was too forceful. His hands were no longer caressing Philip. The man, the murderer, put his fingers around Philips neck and Philip desperately tried to get away, clawing on the hands that were depriving him from air. But the other man was stronger and used his whole body to control his victim. The scene got to Chandler and he felt tears run done down his cheeks. It surprised him. It wasn't the first time he saw a murder play out on a blurry video but it was the first time he had some connection to the victim. Phillip wanted to live. It was obvious. And the other man wanted to kill, it was as obvious. Philips body went limp and he slopped down to the street. The murderer stretched the now lifeless body that once was Philip Black out on the ground. Always with his back to the camera. He straddled his victim's chest and continued to squeeze his throat until he was completely satisfied that the man on the ground was dead.

Afterwards he took his time arranging the body just as he wanted it, moving Philip's arms and legs a few inches here, a few inches there. He didn't rush, he was seemingly unafraid to be seen. The murderer left the body and walked up to one of the wheelie bins. Chandler saw the man take out a bag. The murderer had come prepared. This was no spur of the moment killing. It was cold and thought out. The man took of his shirt and revealed a huge tattoo covering his back. A dragon, a demon. Chandler thought he recognized it but didn't remember from where. He made a mental note to tell Mansell to go through mug shots.  
The murderer put on a hoodie and pulled it over his head. The man knew about the camera. He had made an effort to keep his back to it the whole time. With the hoodie hiding his identity he moved around more freely. Still he kept his head towards the ground. Chandler couldn't get even the smallest glimpse of the man's face.

The man pulled out a knife from the bag, and a paper. He looked carefully at the paper then at the body. The murder hunched down next to the corpse, putting the knife Philip's chest. He didn't push it in, instead he carefully moved it a few inchs here and there, the same as he had done when he laid out the body. He was looking at the paper in his hand the whole time, getting his instructions, or at least that was what it seemed to Chandler.

Then all of a sudden, without a warning, the knife disappeared into Philip's body. It happened fast and made Chandler jump. The still and emotionless movements of the murderer startled Chandler as the man on the video continued to carefully place and slowly push in the knife at 39 different places. It was something so detached over the mans action. It lacked all trace of frenzy or desperation that Chandler normally associated with murder. This was something else. Something much more evil.


	6. Chapter 6

- "So it isn't St. Claire then?" The disappointment was clear in Miles's voice.

The whole team was in the incident room, the usual faces at their usual places, playing their usual roles.

Chandler was standing by the whiteboard pinning printed pictures of the murder on the blank surface.

- "No, it doesn't seem like it. The height and hair colour are wrong."

- "Maybe he just coloured it to foul us. He seems to know all about the cameras. Maybe St. Claire changed his hair colour to make us think that it isn't him,"." Mansell suggested.

- "But how could he change his height?" Riley retorted. The two DC's were sitting at their desks with their bodies turned to the whiteboard, eyes attentively pinned on the DI. "The murderer is a couple of inches shorter than Black. According to the records should be taller than the victim. That's not something you can fake."

- "No, I think we can rule out St. Claire as the murderer. I still would like to talk to him though. Have the uniforms found him yet?" Chandler asked as he pinned yet another photo to the board. This one showed the murderer with a raised knife.

- "No, they've found nothing. The lad is staying low." Miles himself was leaning up against the back wall, arms crossed and head slightly tilted. He could take in the whole room from where he was standing. He let his gaze pass over his team. They were a bunch of scruffs, weren't they? But they did good work, at least most of the time.

Miles sniffled. He could feel a cold coming on. He hadn't time to be sick, he rarely had. The kids had all been home with fever and running noses the past week, and it was just a matter of time until it got to him as well. But he wouldn't go without a fight. He had said as much to his Judy that morning when she tried to convince him to take a sick day. Sick days weren't for him. Murderers don't take sick days he had told his wife. She had just huffed at him and checked his temperature by putting her wrist to his forehead. Luckily he had passed the test and was allowed to go in to work. But now he almost wished he hadn' throat was sore and Chandler was shooting him irritated looks every time he had to sniffle. So Miles did it louder and a few times more than he needed to. A bit childish but still a man with a cold should be able to sniffle in peace without his superior shooting him dirty looks. He was there, wasn't he? He had come in although he had felt poorly. That had to count for something.

- "That man is not a true Ripper fan." Buchan's voice brought Miles back to the incident room. "Just look at his movements. He doesn't care about the authenticity of the murder. He is using his right hand, and the order of the stabbing is all wrong." Buchan sounded upset at the audacity of the murderer. "It's almost as if he didn't care."

- "I don't think he cares one bit about The Ripper, actually,"." Chandler said in agreement with Buchan. "He might not even know he is copying him. But someone does. Someone is telling him how to leave the victim."

- "So there are two of them?" Mansell asked. "A team?"

- "Or a provocateur." When Miles said it Chandler quickly turned and faced him. Their eyes meet over the heads of the team. They were the only two standing. Louise Iver. I've told you it was her. Miles felt as if he screamed it but no words left his lips. They had a discussion with their eyes, a staring contest, a match of wills. One that Miles sort of won when Chandler shrugged and once again turned to the photos.

Chandler didn't bring his fighting spirit. The man who had been almost too eager, who jumped at the chance of a new, interesting case, who had received a bonafide who done it with a huge smile, now just shrugged. Chandler was broken. His fire was almost extinguished. His skin was gloomy, his hair dull and his eyes had lost their luster. There was a tension in his jaw that never seemed to loosen anymore. The eagerness he had during the last years had gotten chipped and pricked at until it changed into something much more similar to apathy.

- "We haven't enough proof to say either way." A silence spread over the room when Chandler's words died out. They all contemplated the case,as Chandler's dispassion spread over themlike a blanket.

- "At least we have those." Mansell swept his hand towards the photos trying to brighten the team's mood. "They must help in some way."

Miles wasn't confident that the tapes were such a good help. Sure they now knew how the murder had played out but he couldn't help but feel like they had taken one step forward and two backwards since they no longer had an suspect.

"And we have our clever little darkilocks to praise for that, right,Gov?" Mansell tried to get the banter going. It didn't work. No one pitched in, least of all Kent.

Kent was … What was Kent doing? Miles looked carefully at the youngest man in the room. Kent had his back half turned to the rest of them. He sat closest to the board but he was facing the other end of the room, swirling a pen between his fingers. He had listened to Chandler retelling the events in the bar and the team discussing the findings without chipping in or saying a word. Kent should be happy and proud. He should be smiling that shy half smile that always broke out when Chandler gave him credit or praise. Chandler had put the whole success of the outing on Kent's shoulders but he didn't appear to care. Instead those shoulders seemed full of tension and weighed down. It worried Miles. Kent had gone through a drastic change over the last years. He wasn't the same. He, too, had lost his eagerness. He had always been shy but now he was quiet and moody.

It was all these bloody cases. They weren't ordinary cases, they were filled with evil. Even Mansell and Riley had been affected by them, shown signs of cracking. They were a Humpty Dumpty team, coming loose at the edges. And no matter how much Miles tried he didn't know how to put them all back together again. They no longer acted like a team, not look at what happened at the zombie attack. Sure it was just role playing in a team building exercise but they had buggered up royally.  
They were so few now. Fitzgerald had betrayed them, and it still stung Miles. McCormack had hanged himself.,That always broke Miles's heart. The rest had left;, they had run away scared and good riddance he said. If you didn't have the stomach for the rough times then you shouldn't be a copper. Now they were down to the five of them, and Buchan, but Miles didn't like to count Buchan.

-"Hrhum."

All faces turned to the door.

-"Commander Andersson," Chandler said. He sounded surprised.

-"DI Chandler, a word please." Without a hesitation and care of interrupting something, the cCommander made his way through the incident room and walked into Chandler's office.

-"Well right, carry on for now," Chandler instructed his team with his eyes fixed on Commander Andersson. "Double check everything again. Riley, go through the films from the bar. Mansell, see if the murderer was caught on any other CCTV as he left. At least we know now what clothes the murderer wore. And Kent, please help them with that.

- "Yes sir," the DC:s said in chorus.

- "Ok, let's get to work." Chandler started to move in the direction of his office when Miles cut him off.

- "What is this all about then? Why is his highest nibs stopping by?" Miles nodded with his head towards Commander Andersson.

- "I don't know, do I, Miles?. I have to go and see." Chandler patted Miles on the shoulder and kindly pushed him out of the way.

- "Good luck, sir."

- "What, why? I don't need luck."

- "But you do, we all do."

- "Oh come off it, Miles." Chandler sounded irritated and walked off. He closed the door to his office and shut the blinds.

* * *

Miles walked down the dimly lit corridor. He had kept filming with the cameras they found in the sewer. But there had been no more nightly visits from the Iver woman caught on tape. He had also left small traps by the old pipes. But there were no signs of a visitor there either. Miles didn't know if that was a good sign or not. He needed more proof, something concrete that would make Chandler see. But then what? How could they fight and win over Louise Iver?

With a head filled with thoughts, Miles took the stairway down to Buchan's lair in the cellar. He used to be able to take the stairs two at a time, never very gracefully, though.,He had always been a short, stodgy fellow, but at least he had speed when he was younger. Everything slowed down with age. Well not everything, he was as sharp as ever up in the old knob. But sometimes he felt like his body was betraying him. He had a hard time keeping up with Chandler's giant stride, and it was not just because his legs were half the length of the other man's. Bloody tall man, the DI.

- "Have you found anything?" Miles voice took Buchan with surprise.

- "I don't know where to start," Buchan replied with a deep sigh. "Should I look for copycat killings, partners in crime or is it the fact that the victim was a prostitute more important? Or should the man's sexual orientation be my main focal point? It's all too hard to tell by this point. And I know how Joe feel about jumping to conclusions."

Miles moved around the shelves, looking at a box here, touching a map there.

- "Ah," Buchan said. "Or are you inquiring about our other investigation?"

- "Still nothing on the cameras and no evidence that she entered the station again." Miles stopped in front of the Buchan's desk. "I have nothing new, do you?"

- "There is no mention of a Louise Iver in any official document. There are no cases, old or recent, that mentions an old woman fitting her appearance."

- "I thought you said that all little old women looked alike."

Ignoring Miles sly remark Buchan continued.

- "I just don't see how this woman fits the pattern. Are we certain that she exist?"

- "She exists all right. And I know she's out there."

- "There is no Louise Iver listed in Whitechapel, or the whole of London for that matter."

- "So she is using an alias. That's not new." Miles had to blow his nose. "She is behind all this matter of a new Ripper. I know it." He wiped himself again and in his head he damned all bacterias and viruses in the world.

Buchan let out an angry breath.

- "A new Ripper?, I beg to differ, I would hardly call this a new Ripper. This killer lacks all the finesse of the real Ripper."

- "Yeah, yeah," Miles said dismissively. He wasn't there to discuss the killing of Phillip Black. That conversation they could have up in the incident room. He didn't have to come down into the moldy cellar to talk about an official case. "I know she is here in Whitechapel. She wouldn't stray."

* * *

_It smelled. She hadn't said that it would smell. He could feel it in the whole house. He had put the crate with the body in the cellar that he had found by chance. It had been sealed shut, but he'd opened up again, and now it served as a mausoleum and that would have been fine if it wasn't for the smell. Pungent and sticky. He wondered if the neighbours would notice. Probably not, these old Victorian houses had thick brick walls. But then again he had no idea if brick walls could stop odors. It didn't really matter. He himself couldn't stand the smell. He wanted to get rid of the body. She had told him to keep the body in water a couple of weeks but one week had to do, or was it five days?. It couldn't make any difference. It was hard for him to see the importance of any of it,except the killing part. That he needed._

_She had told him to leave the body at an exact point by the Thames. He would do it tonight, because he couldn't handle that smell. It followed him wherever he went. It was as if it stuck to his clothes because he could swear he felt it even outside the house. He made his way down to the cellar. The stench overpowered his senses. This would be difficult, he thought as he looked at the decomposing body in the water. It was turning black and blistering up. It made him gag. He didn't want to touch it, he didn't want the water around it to touch him. The body had formed a thick, soapy, substance that filled the plastic crate._

_How the hell was he supposed to transport this body to the beach and leave it there in one piece? He had to find a way so that the police would see and understand. He had to make it work just as she wanted so he could get rid of this body and go looking for the next victim._

* * *

It had been an uneventful day. There hadn't been any developments in the case and they were all unhinged by the lack of progress. The films gave no more information and there were no signs of the murderer after he left the bar. Chandler had stayed in his office all day andhadn't told Miles what the Commander wanted. All and all it had been a rotten day. The only good that had come out of it was that Miles had made it home early. He had hugged his kids, kissed his wife and then went out in the garden with his littlest one to the carp pond. All the day's problems, all the violence and cruelty of the world, fell out of him as he watch his daughter feed the carp and heard her delightful laugh fill the garden as the fish started their feeding frenzy. It had become their daily ritual, or at least on the days Miles came home at a somewhat decent hour.

- "Look, Daddy, the fishy wants to eat me,"", she screamed although the gulping mouth of the carp was nowhere near her. Then his beloved daughter fled into his arms, altogether ecstatic. "Here they can't get to me, right Daddy? You'll feed them the rest."

Miles drew her tight to his chest. The warm little body shiveredfrom thrill and excitement. It always fascinated Miles how his daughter could have such a strong reaction to this, by now, familiar moment. It was as if the carp and their rough behaviour when the food hit the water was new to her each time.

- "Daddy, they are so hungry. Maybe we should feed them more often. Give them some more." And so he did, he never refused his daughter anything. She had him wrapped around her finger, she, his little unexpected miracle. Sometimes he thought that it was her and these moments that saved him. If she hadn't come along, he would be as broken as Chandler. He would have changed as much as Kent if his daughter's little arms never would've been wrapped around his neck. She grounded him and made him see what was real and what wasn't. He loved all his children the same but his littlest one was different. She had come at the right time, when he needed her the most. So he always hurried home after a shift to be able to spend a few minutes with her before she fell asleep. The nights when the scum of the world made it impossible, a kiss to her sleeping forehead did the trick and helped him leave the troubles of the outside behind.

So they feed the fish and by each bite by the carp, Miles became less and less the sergeant and more and more the loving family father. They fed the fish until he felt perfectly at ease and could go inside to his family. He cuddled up with the rest of the kids by the TV. His wife tucked him in a blanket and served him tea with ginger, claiming it was good against the cold. He slumbered, surrounded by his family, until it was time for bed and Miles fell asleep in the arms of the love of his life, his Judy.

When the phone rang, Miles was fast asleep. He answered quickly so that Judy wouldn't wake.

- "Yeah," he said knowing that it would be someone in his team or the station.

- "We've found St. Claire." It was Chandler. "He is dead."

Miles grunted and got out a bed as quietly as he could. He felt a bit woozy and his throat pained him.

Judy turned, woken up by the lack of her husband's weight and warmth in their bed.

- "You off already?" she asked barely awake.

- "Yeah, another body."

- "You feel ok?"

- "Of course I do, love. Go back to sleep." Miles kissed his wife on the forehead.

- "Give my love to Joe," she murmured before she turned over and within a second she was once again asleep.

* * *

Thank you for reading. I think we are about half way through the story. I hope I can keep it interesting until the end. There are still some twist and turns and emotional heartbreak to be had.  
And thank you very much to jerseybelle for the beta.


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